Sighing, Sophie padded back to her bed and grabbed her phone. It’s okay! she typed, hoping to keep the dismay out of her words. You can come down once they clear the roads. :) We’ll just do a slightly belated Christmas! No need to upset her mom more than she likely already was.
As she brushed her teeth, scraped her hair back into a functional high ponytail, and threw on a sweater and thick snow pants, Sophie glanced at the big tote bag full of books on the desk in the corner. The books were meant for one of her favorite non-profit organizations: With All My Art.
WAMA focused on getting media and entertainment to people who lived below the poverty line, and had been more than happy to pair with Sophie when they learned she was a romance writer. They served a lot of people who were eager for happily-ever-afters, and Sophie was delighted to oblige. Over the years, she and Gina Lopez, the fifty-something-year-old human hurricane who ran WAMA, had developed a friendship that Sophie truly treasured.
In the tote bag were signed copies of Dashing through the Snow, the ones she’d promised Gina she’d take to her today so With All My Art could disperse them to all the people who’d signed up for a copy. Putting her hands on her hips, Sophie nodded at the books. She was getting them to WAMA one way or another, dammit.
Snow boots laced up and the bag of books slung over one shoulder, she made her way out into the living room. Pausing for a moment, she studied Wolfe. He was fast asleep, his big form sprawled across the too-small couch. His long legs hung off one end, still clad in his jeans from the night before. He must’ve gotten hot in the middle of the night (Sophie liked the temperature in the cabin to be a balmy seventy-five degrees) because the blanket was in a puddle on the floor and he’d taken off his sweater.
Keep it moving, Soph.
She meant to, she honestly did. But Sophie found her eyes roving along his bare torso. She hadn’t been wrong in her observations last night, she saw. His physique was definitely more lumberjack than book critic. I’m just surprised is all, Sophie told herself. I’m definitely not gawking. I’m simply observing his sculpted pecs, that thatch of umber-colored chest hair, his toned abs and the dark trail running from his belly button to—
“Mm—what?”
She jumped, and the bag of books went tumbling to the floor. “Shit!” Kneeling, Sophie began picking up the few books that had fallen to the floor. Her cheeks were flaming; she didn’t dare look up at him.
She heard him sit up and yawn. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sophie did look up at him, then, her pulse thudding ridiculously at his sleep-rumpled brown hair and the shadow of a beard that had formed along his square jaw. “You didn’t.” She said it a little defiantly, her chin thrust into the air, although she didn’t know why. She was feeling a little defensive, oddly enough.
A small smile hovered at his lips. “Were you checking me out?”
Okay, that’s why. There it was. Sophie trilled a laugh, slightly too high-pitched and loud for the space. “Yeah. I was wondering where your batteries go.” Picking the last book up and stuffing it into the bag, she stood. “If you must know, I was pondering what you’re still doing here, freeloading on my couch.”
Leaning back, Wolfe used two fingers to lift the curtain out of the way and peer out the window. “Damn. That’s a lot of snow.”
“Yeah, I know. I was disappointed, too. I don’t think the road out to Portland’s going to be opening anytime soon. The snowplow probably won’t get everything cleared for a couple of days; definitely not my road, anyway.”
Wolfe jerked his head back around to look at her. “A couple of days? Why would it take that long?”
Sophie hefted the heavy bag from one shoulder to the other. “I’m kind of out of the way, and the town only has one plow. I’m not really high up on the priority list. That’s why I keep a well-stocked pantry.”
“Shit.” Wolfe reached for the curtain again.
Sophie shrugged. “Well, I’m off. See ya. There’s a sealed travel toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet if you want to get cleaned up, and new soap under the sink.”
“Thanks,” he said, without looking at her.
Throwing on her coat and mittens at the back door, Sophie took a breath and wrenched it open. A bunch of snow fell in; she’d have to clean it up when she got back. She wanted to get into town sooner rather than later. She walked out into the briskly cold, sparkling white morning and headed for the tiny shed on her property.
Her cabin was set on a small hill, and she could see down into town on a clear day. Two miles downhill with a heavy bag of books should be doable. She’d be empty-handed on the way back up, which would make things a lot easier.
“What are you doing?”
Sophie turned to see Wolfe at the back door, frowning at her like she was personally inconveniencing him by rummaging around in her own shed. At least he was dressed now.
“Going into town,” she called, her boots crunching in the snow as she walked back into the shed. “The snow’s too high for my Subaru, so I’m going to snowshoe.” She returned a minute later
